While cruising through mountain towns, I always make it a point to stop at the local gear shop. They’re usually smallish, but full of character, staffed by dirtbaggy locals and stuffed to the rafters with a small, but well-curated selection of “oh shit” items (i.e. the stuff you broke, lost, or forgot) and “hell yeah” items (i.e. the stuff that supports your stoke). Sure, they’re in the business of selling things, but sometimes I feel like that’s really a means to a more altruistic end: to celebrate what we love with a community of likeminded folks.
My list of favorites seems to grow every year, from tiny Elevation, which holds court in the much larger shadow of Mt. Whitney, to the astonishingly spacious dream cabin layout of Fayetteville’s Pack Rat Outdoor Center, to The Trailhead, a Buena Vista outfitter that not only shares space with a cozy café, but also provided me safe haven during a monsoonal epic on the Colorado Trail. But for the last twelve years—nearly the entire length of time I’ve lived in Los Angeles—one outdoor shop has ruled them all: Adventure 16, located in West L.A. just a few wheel turns from the junction of perhaps the two busiest highways in the country.
During my first visit, I lingered at the doorway to take in the scope of my suddenly non-urban surrounds—a wood-shingled oasis bedecked with colorful gear like so many holiday decorations, and dotted with a collection of rustic furnishings that could very well have been carved by a beaver with rather refined tastes. What wall space wasn’t covered with gear displays was decorated with photos and posters and maps and local flyers. And near the front entrance sat an antique stove topped with coffee and fixings for customers. I immediately felt like I belonged; that in Adventure 16, I’d found the perfect homebase for my identity as an urbanite who loved to play in the dirt.
Over the years, I returned often, sometimes weekly. Adventure 16—A16 to its faithful—is where I bought my first pair of climbing shoes (and then, my second), my first harness, and my first helmet. It’s where I prepared for my inaugural snow camping experience as part of a class that I now help teach, where I attended slideshows and presentations about mountains that I would later climb, and where I bought one-off copies of magazines that I now subscribe to—and write for. And when I published a book a few years back, the kind folks at A16 hosted the release party.
In time, A16 became as much a part of my outdoor life in Los Angeles as the mountains that stretch across the city’s north side, so I was heartbroken to learn that it will shutter at the end of the year (after 57 years in business and a long struggle and lots of winnowing, its last two stores are closing). It felt immediately personal, as these sorts of closures—your favorite coffee joint, your favorite bookstore, your favorite record shop—often do. But my mourning was rooted even more deeply in the fact that our city—an unlikely mountain town straining against the weight of cars and concrete and other people’s misconceptions—was losing a home place for its outdoor community.
I know that some people will read this and scoff. Los Angeles has long been an easy punchline, especially to those who live in places like Bend and Boulder and Bozeman, the sort of snowbound, forested fantasy lands lauded as the ultimate escape from places just like this. But despite our infamous urban sprawl, L.A., too, is an outdoor town. We hike and climb and kayak and picnic and run and bike and meditate and fish. Our mountains, small as they may be in comparison to the places listed above, host coyotes and bobcats and mountain lions who reclaim the city in their twilight wanderings. Our people wind along the edge of the San Gabriel Mountains to sneak in a weekday camping session with city lights twinkling below, starlight sparkling above. We gather into urban peletons, cruising through the city streets and along the Los Angeles River in a whoosh of pure joy. We rise for dawn patrol in the Pacific, some of us even living out the truism that you can surf in the morning, and ski in the evening.
Yes, we can still buy our gear at the big-name outdoor chain with several SoCal outposts; most folks living in big cities can do the same. But Adventure 16 was our mountain shop. A place where you could come in to purchase a new pack, and leave with a head full of inspiration for where you might carry it. Where you could settle in to enjoy a film screening, and depart with plans to drag your crash pad to Stoney Point the following weekend with some fellow moviegoers. Where you could run into old friends, exchange conversation with kindred spirits, lose yourself in the possibility of a map on the wall. Where you could realize that you aren’t alone as a city girl at heart with mountains tugging at her soul.
Photos by Shawnté Salabert (top), Adventure 16
I still have a credit there. I better get busy.
Yep 🙁
They’re launching an everything goes sale starting Friday; I’d pop in as soon as you can.
This was beautiful. Thank you for writing this. I worked at A16 when I lived in LA and my husband and I met working there. You summed it up more than I could. Thank you for capturing the spirit of A16 and putting it into such beautiful words. Brought a tear to my eye.
What a bummer! The A16 in San Diego was my first real outdoor gear store experience…
Truly a bummer in so many ways – but I’m struck by how so many of us have such a nostalgic connection to A16! That’s kinda lovely.
I’ve worked periodically at Elevation for the past several years between dirtbagging and journalistic freelancing. It taught me so much about the community forged by small gear shops around the country. It’s a tough business in an industry dominated by REI, Backcountry and Amazon, but there’s no substitute for quirky, helpful local knowledge. Bummed to hear A16 is out :/
Small shops continue to face an uphill battle, for sure. But they’re so, so important – can’t tell you how much “oh shit” gear I’ve bought at Elevation, especially while on the PCT – or how many questions I’ve had answered and recommendations I’ve been given. Plus, after I was caught ogling my own book on the shelf like the dork that I am, I got to do an impromptu signing :p
Bummer to hear. I used to shop the Valley store. Will never forget Meeting Timothy Treadwell there and being able to talk one to one to him for an hour about Grizzly bears. So sad the small stores are losing the battle these days.
Oh, wow! I’ve had a lot of pretty amazing run-ins at the West LA store over the years, but that’s pretty epic!
I backpacked with Andy Drolenger in the ’70s and we had great times. I remember one trip, up San Jacinto, when lightning storms rolled in. Andy mentioned seeing sparks coming off of metallic objects, such as zippers and snaps, in previous lightning storms. I had a full set of braces at the time and there was much ribbing going on regarding the potential light show they would produce. Andy suggested that I bend them into letters to say “Sleep At Tamarack” and stand at the top of Round Valley to guide back[ackers in. I join others in lamenting the rise of internet shopping in regards to it’s decimation of the specialist retail landscape. There was always interesting people and arcane knowledge to be garnered during a trip to such sanctuaries (Highland Outfitters in Riverside and Grante Stairway in San Luis Obispo are others) and that is being lost.
Fantastic story – and agree with the sentiment completely.
Thank you for the thoughtful words and paying homage to A16. It was all those things to me, too. Growing up in San Diego literally everything outdoor I bought came from there–first rock shoes, first packs and sleeping bags, first rack. I meet Todd Skinner there on his slide show tour after freeing the Salathe Wall. I won a sweet daypack for answering a trivia question first (at age 16, perhaps one of my proudest outdoor nerd moments) in front of a huge crowd and it went around the world with me–before getting stolen at an Oregon ski area. I loved A16 for all the reasons you list and for my own that different, but only barely. Onward into the woods.
And thank *you* for sharing your own memories…it’s kind of comforting to hear all of these amazing stories people have!
same here in the SF bay area, berkeley in particular.
on san pablo [email protected] gilman were 5 outdoor shop, one of them a real dirtbag store, plus the gear repair/material shop. now it’s only REI (the yoga gear store, where the employees nowadays often don’t have much clue), royal robbins and the north face outlet.
then there was marmot mountain works and sierra design around the corner.
all gone…
It truly feels like the end of an era…and an end I’m not happy about 🙁
So…why are they closing, beyond the usual REI and Amazon? Usually there’s a bit more. Especially with bike shops.
I think that it’s just impossible to keep up with deep discounts the chains and online retailers can offer; seems to be the case with all of the closures that have been happening. Local retail is a tough game these days.
Oh no. Lovely written piece about a place that those of us who sought that special sauce knew to find there. A16 carried one of my films without me knowing it. When I saw it there, I felt a timid pride that I never experienced anywhere else it was commercially available (there were not that many). Yet another experience that is robbed by the online shopping tsunamis. Much like the mom-and-pop book store, A16 and other enclaves fighting their way to remain relevant in urban jungles are going the way of the dodo. That is a shame. RIP old friend. You cultivated the dreams in many of us.
Ah, that special sauce – going to miss it very much. And I know exactly what you mean…it was so special for them of all places to support my book – felt a bit like having my family show up for me.
I’m so bummed. I helped open the new store in Irvine, sad when it closed, I still have gear I bought. The night we finished the store we all drove out and hiked San Jacinto that night, freezing cold, great times, great friends. So many slideshows, movies, guests.. John D, you will be missed. Thanks A16.
Kirkham’s in Salt Lake City just called it as well.
Sad indeed.
Where I rented my first gear when I hiked Mount Whitney by myself… you will always be in my memories thank you !
So very sad to hear this. I’ve missed the shop in the San Fernando Valley for a long time. Now, this is the end of my beloved A-16. What a shame!
I still have my North Face Bullfrog tent from the A16 San Diego Mother’s Day Sale, 1991! I was a budding photographer/guide then and they let me do a slideshow presentation (with real Kodachrome transparency slides back then) about backpacking in the area. If fact, they welcomed lectures and slideshows from “normal” people who just wanted to talk “outdoors.” I would spend hours there just browsing books and magazines. Also, the only place in San Diego that rented gear. RIP ol’ friends.
WOW – I thought that *I* had old gear! Amazing. And they’ve always had the absolute best slideshows. I love how it truly felt like a community space.
To the staff at A16:
Thanks for all the good service and advice way back in the ’90’s. I was a backpacking greenhorn, but you guys didn’t care.
You provided good advice, good clothes and gear and gave me a good sendoff on my first Sierra adventures.
Thanks A16 !
I was the luckiest guy in the world to incorporate A16 in 1971 after getting to know Andy Drollinger in his garage shop & having him convert my Kelty with A16 sidearms
For years I did the hiring mostly on character & letting each find their strengths -it worked.
I remember shingling a wall all night in LA but sitting in on an early store folks meeting. I was asked to comment. I thought a minute then asked ” what do you think is the prime reason to be hired here? I got a lot of answers then said “no” your prime reason is to make the friend. The sales will follow.” The idea stuck & you made so many friends.
To know that so many of you have the feelings you have expressed means a great deal.
I am thankful that JohnD & all of you kept that spirit alive.
Thank you dear people –THANK YOU !!!